


Forbidden

by Duochanfan



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Diary/Journal, M/M, Memories, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duochanfan/pseuds/Duochanfan
Summary: William Watson, the grandson of John Watson goes to clear out the cottage where his grandfather spent the last of his days and comes across a journal that shows him the relationship between his Grandfather and a man he called Uncle wasn't all it seemed to the outside world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Sherlock Holmes, I am just having some fun while I can.
> 
> Thanks go to my good friend Myrcella. Huggles sweetie.

**Forbidden**

William Watson walked towards the room at the back of the cottage. His grandfather had retired here with a dear friends of his some twenty years before. But a few days ago he had passed away. He had been ill for the last few months and he finally joined his friend, Sherlock, who had died four years previous. William's father had left it up to him to deal with the cottage. Andrew Watson didn't get along with his father while he was alive. There were many reasons for this, but the main one was the fact that when Andrew was six, his parents parted ways.

William looked around his grandfather's room and sighed. William was still saddened by the fact that he had been alone in his last days. He looked through the shelves that adorned one side of the room and smiled as he saw a clay mug that he had made when he had visited as a child. He walked over to it and took it down, looking at it for a moment before putting it back.

"Sorry Grandfather," he whispered to the room, "I'm sorry you were alone," he apologised as he went over to the bed and sat down. William couldn't help but look through the drawer, he frowned as he pulled out a tattered book. It looked old and delicate, he carefully opened it up and smiled as he saw his grandfather's handwriting inside. The Personal Journal of John Watson. Keep out Sherlock. He laughed as he couldn't help but remember what Uncle Sherlock was like before he passed away. William opened it up to the first entry and began to read. He wouldn't read all of it, but he would read a few at least. He wanted to know what his grandfather was like without people around him.

_**February 1881** _

_II have been back in London for all of two weeks since my shoulder injury in the Battle of Maiwand in Afghanistan. I spent months recovering. I spent just as long here in England before I was able to be fully discharged. Now with a pension and finding it difficult to find a place to call home. By chance I met an old friend in Galen Stamford, he had been a dresser under me when I was at St Barts. My predicament naturally come up, and he led to my introduction to one Sherlock Holmes. A most amazing and awe inspiring man that I have ever met. Upon our first meeting he was able to tell me things about myself that I have never mentioned. He took me on a case with him when I stopped by our prospect abode. I could not believe the whirlwind that is Sherlock Holmes. At the conclusion of the case I moved into 221b Baker Street, with a wonderful landlady, Mrs Hudson._

_It has been two days since then, and now I know that I will remain here, quite happily for a lifetime. I feel welcome, at home and more alive than I have done in months. Holmes isn't like others that I have met in the past. Holmes shows a genius that I have never seen before. He is tall, distinguished with his grey hair, that I have noticed has began to recided, not that the gentleman cares about such a thing. He does have oddities, I admit. A penchant to playing the violin, but enjoyable to listen. There are of course others, but I find that they make Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes._

William looked through a few more entries, all of them were about the more domestic things going on in their lives. He skipped a couple of pages and stopped at another, and began to read. He would carry on skipping a couple each time.

_**June 1884** _

_That man, oh what an idiot he can be. For all of his brains, he has very little sense. We were chasing a murderer. He had killed a young woman in cold blood and we were able to locate him, thanks to Holmes's genius. But that wasn't all. He had chased after him, knowing all the time that he was armed. Holmes may know Baritsu, but that doesn't hold much sway against a guhn._

_My heart was in my throat when I heard the gun go off. I was but moments behind my friends. And as I turned the corner, I was afraid of what I would find. He lay there, on the ground, and I thought it was the end. Thankfully he got up and shortly after we were able to bring down the Murderer, Davidson. I couldn't help but tell Holmes to be more careful. Though I know he wouldn't take much of what I say on board. Thankfully the wound was easily cleaned and taken care of. Which I shall be doing again in a moment._

**January 1885**

_My mind is in turmoil. I do not even know where I should begin. I do not know if I should even write down what I am feeling in this moment in time. My mind and my heart are at war. I do not know which shall win. But each and every passing moment I can not help but hope it would be my heart._

**November 1886**

_My heart has won. It has taken me a long time to reconcile the feelings I have. I can never speak to anyone of what I now believe to be true about myself. Even doing this, writing it down, I shall be prosecuted for what and who I am. While I still love and adore women. I have come to realise that I am beginning to feel a deeper kinship that just friendship with Sherlock Holmes. It pains my heart that I will never have the chance to reveal to him my deepening feelings. But I am content to be by his side, to stand by him, no matter what may come._

**March 1889**

_I never want to hear the name Professor James Moriarty again. I have to admit, if only to myself that I am scared of this man. Holmes finds him fascinating, to the point of obsession. I fear for my friend over this. I have no idea to get through to Holmes how dangerous things could be if we continue our search for Moriarty. I have talked with Mycroft Holmes, the elder of the two. But even he admits that when Holmes becomes enthralled with something he will not let it go. Much like the man's use of opiates, a vice i am attempting to coax him away from. They are damaging his health._

_I can do naught by stand beside him, ready to face what comes. The things I feel for the man make me want to do all I can to keep him safe. I know that people would friend upon my feelings, but I can not help it._

**January 1891**

_My heart is no more. I was right to be wary of Moriarty. Holmes went after him, and at the Reichenbach Falls he fell to his death, taking Moriarty with him. I am lost, and alone as I once was. Mrs Hudson is also grieving, but I feel dead inside. My heart cries for that man that was my soul mate. To those around me I can only show that I have lost a friend. But in the privacy of Baker Street, I can truly let my heartache show, as I rage and mourn at my loss._

**October 1891**

_It has been nine months since Holmes died. My heart is still broken, but it is slowly mending. It is with the help of a young school teacher, she is a number of years younger. But she too knows that loss of someone close to her heart. We have spent time together these last few months, she is smart and beautiful. A warm and kindly woman that I am delighted to come to know. She understand and does not look down on me for the love I hold for Holmes. We are both lost souls, longing for someone that neither of us will see again._

_We have decided to marry. While we may not be in romantic love with each other, we care about each other. We both are looking for someone that we connect with, and we have found each other. It may be quick, but I do not wish to be alone with my thoughts as they centre around Homes. We shall try and be each other's support for the rest of our lives._

**November 1892**

_The frigid November air has given me something I never thought I would have after I returned to London over ten years ago. I have a son. A little boy, Andrew Sherlock Watson. May and I are, well there are no words to truly describe what we are feeling as we look to our son. Smiles on our faces and joy in our hearts. He is named for Mary's late Fiance, and of course for Holmes. He is lover and treasured dearly by us already. I love the child more than words can truly express._

_It was days before Andrew was born that Mary and I talked. We know that we will remain friends for the rest of our lives. We do not feel a deep lover other than friendship to each other. Our Hearts belong to other and always will. But we are fine with that, we have a son and our friendship to enjoy. I will do my best to raise Andrew to be a good and just man._

**July 1894**

_I don't know what I should feel. Breatyal comes to mind. Mary has only just left me at this moment in time. To tend to Andrew of course. I take this moment to write down the confusing thoughts in my head. Sherlock Holmes is not dead. He faked his death to fool his enemies. He has broken my heart and my trust. It hurts to know that he has been alive all this time. THough part of me can't help but feel relief to know that he is alive. He may have broken my heart, but I can't help it, but I still love him, I still care. He left me alone, all alone, to grieve and mourn his death. I do not know if I shall forgive him this transgression. Mary is all for me to do so, after time._

**February 1895**

_Mary has talked to me often over what has happened with Holmes and his return to life. She has also been telling me to confess my feelings, but I can not of course. Homes and I have spent most of yesterday talking things through. I have forgiven him, it has taken a while. But my heart is mending._

**January 1896**

_I have just arrived home after finishing another case with Holmes. Our third since his return. We are closer now than we have ever been, enough that he has occasionally fallen asleep in the carriage with me. Leaning against me, I take small pleasure in this action, how can I not with my feelings for him. Mary is right, I feel like I am alive again when I am beside Holmes. I can feel the distance that is beginning to grow between Mary and myself. Andrew has begun to notice that things are different. He is four and so smart, he can read already and write. Though he needs more work on the handwriting, but it is getting better everyday. Holmes has been teaching him things, whenever he has the chance. He knows how to handle Andrew and his inquisitive nature. He had taught him the little things, and even began to teach him how to observe. Which is why he is picking up on the change in mine and Mary's relationship._

_I do not wish to leave Mary in the house with Andrew alone, I never want to leave. Mary is a very dear friend and Andrew is my child, my son. A light that will never fade for me. Mary has been saying that she would be fine alone with Andrew and I should be there when I can. I don't know what I should do. I have spent some nights at Baker Street and it is like old times as Holmes experiments. But there is new things as well. He talks a lot more, tells me things that I know he has told no other. I have comforted him during nightmares of his time away, and he is beginning to open up about the missing years and my heart breaks a little each time wishing I was there for him._

**March 1898**

_I have left Mary. For all I have worried, she spurred me on with a smile. It all began two nights ago. I stayed in Baker Street. I slept in my old room once more, as I do when there, unless I fall asleep on the sofa when watching over Sherlock as he sleeps. As I lay drifting between wakefulness and sleep, Sherlock came to my room, sat on my bed. It was not usual for him. He told me he had deduced my feelings for him, my heart was in my throat as I felt fear at those words. But he smile, leaned down and kissed me. He slept in the bed with me that night. Sometimes I wish we could be just like every other courting couple and be open about our relationship. But in know that will not happen in my lifetime. It may never happen, but I can hope and wish and dream._

_This morning when I returned home, I told Mary what had happened. I feared she would be angry with me. But she was happy and joyous over such a thing. Happy that I have a chance to be with the one I love. My bag is beside me as I sit one last time on the bed I have shared with Mary for so long. Andrew is upset at my leaving and has refused to talk with me. Mary is going to do her best to talk to him. It will be hard on him, and on Mary. I will be back and forth between here and Baker Street. Now I shall put pen and paper down. Pack this journal away, and leave after I say one last goodbye, with a promise to come back as often as I can and for them to visit as much as they can._

William closed the journal for a moment. His mind was whirling with all that he had learned. He knew that his grandfather had left his grandmother when his father was still very young. He felt his heart constrict a little as he thought of his Uncle Sherlock and his grandfather being together and never able to be themselves. He had seen the way the two of them had been with each other when he had been able to visit.

There was a deep love between the two of them, and now he understood why his grandmother had worried about his grandfather so much after Uncle Sherlock passed away. She knew that he had lost his soulmate a second time. His grandfather had held on and carried on, keeping up the care of the bees until he was too weak to deal them. He hadn't the passion that Uncle Sherlock had for them, but he looked after the last living reminded of his lover.

William glanced over his shoulder at the journal. He knew he would have to keep what he had learned to himself. No one could know what he had found. It would ruin the Watson name, and while he didn't care that his grandfather and Uncle had loved each other, others would. He would have to read the journal in its entirety when he had some proper time to himself, for now, he decided to read a few more entries, just to know what happened.

William went back over to the bed and sat down, pulling the journal to him before settling down and opening it once more. He skipped a few of the more mundane everyday entries and boring cases and chose one to read dated a few years after the last one he did.

**April 1901**

_As I write, Sherlock is in the kitchen. I dread to think what he is making. I am not feeling my best. Influenza has gotten the better of me this day, and I am confined to bed. I feel tired and achy, but SHerlock is taking care of me as best as he can. Mary visited with Andrew yesterday, it was nice to see them, even though with me being ill they did not stay for long. It would not do for them to become ill as well._

_I am hoping he will ask Mrs Turner to make something. She is our new landlady as of last month. Since her sister Mrs Hudson passed away. Mrs Turner has cooked for us before, heard the horror stories from Mrs Hudson to know that SHerlock being in the kitchen in a bad things. He has taken care of me, soothed the fever I have and held me as I rest. My eyes are hurting from the strain of writing, so I shall put this away and await Sherlock's return._

**December 1902**

_Christmas is almost upon us and Sherlock and I are going away for the holidays. We are taking the time to go to a cottage. We are wishing for time to ourselves before the true holidays begin. It is not often that we can get away from the prying eyes of the public. We need the time to ourselves, to just be able to love and live for that moment. I wish I could walk down the street, holding SHerlock's hand, like the courting couples do. And I feel like an old sentimental fool, when I wish that I could have courted Sherlock as I did Mary. While I can still give the small gifts and do the little things behind closed doors, we can't do everything._

**May 1903**

_We have finished another case, this one was just the right kind of intrigue that Sherlock enjoys. A young woman had killed two men. We were able to trace where she was hiding, thanks to the breakthroughs that Sherlock has made over the years with his experiments. We didn't chase this one, like most others. We are getting on in years, we are both finding it hard to keep up with the younger generation as they commit crimes. We are both feeling the strain of our aging bodies._

**June 1904**

_After twenty three years, Sherlock and I are to retire. He has brought us a lovely small cottage in the Sussex Downs. He will enjoy beekeeping for our twilight years. I am sad to see the end of our adventures, but both of us are advancing in age. We shall leave the crime solving to the younger generation._

_There is room for Andrew to stay and for separate bedrooms for myself and Sherlock when he does. We have not slept apart unless we truly need to since we began our relationship. I enjoy the feel of his arms around me, and my own around him as I sleep. It is something that I have become accustomed to. Now we have our chance to be ourselves, since we are far enough away from the public. It a few more days we will be in our new home._

_I can't help but love Sherlock all the more. He has made it easier for me to spend time with Andrew. He is twelve now and enjoying school, and learning from Sherlock. He has been told of our retirement, and isn't happy about us moving far away. I know he feels like I am abandoning him again. Bit I will do all I can to alleviate that. Sherlock and Mary have done their best to explain. I know that he is young and hurt. For now I shall retired for the night and rest with Sherlock once again._

**June 1910**

_Six years to the day that we retired to this wonderful cottage and Sherlock made it a special occasion. We had a lovely picnic in our garden. Spending the day with my head in Sherlock's lap as he read Shakespeare to me was beautiful. I find myself reminiscing more and more over the last several years and all that we have done in this home. The time we have spent, just holding each other, loving one another with no fear of someone coming across us. The stress of hiding who we are is no longer there. To the outside world we are just Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson, two very good friends. But here in our world, we are each other's world. I love the feeling of freedom I have. The only time that changes is when Andrew spends time with us, though even that is lessening as he grows up. He is now eighteen and a man of the world._

_Now I need to go and bring out our dinner, the candles are lit, and Sherlock should be arriving soon from tending to his bees. A nice romantic dinner._

**July 1912**

_Where has the time gone. My son is married and I am feeling my age even more. Sherlock is with me and we have been talking with Mary. She is still a wonderful woman, full of life. She lives for Andrew, our son. It is nice to see her, and Sherlock has told her to come and stay with us sometime. She has agreed, though it didn't take long for Sherlock to persuade her to do so._

_My new daughter in law, Hannah, is a beautiful and shy young woman, a little younger than Andrew. I have no doubt that Mary will make sure her shyness doesn't last for long. The younger generation has grown up and I can not fathom how that has happened. I am alone in my hotel room for this night, Sherlock is in the room opposite me and I feel lonely without him beside me. I do not think I shall sleep much tonight._

**September 1914**

_I have a grandson, William and what a lovely lad he is. A good set of lungs on him as he makes sure the world knows he has arrived. There is only one thing wrong and that is that Andrew isn't here to celebrate. He has joined the Army, and gone to the front lines. We are all worried and scared for him. Mary is staying with Hannah while he isn't home, to help with William. Sherlock and I wish the same, but there isn't room._

_All I can do is pray for Andrew's safe return. I know what war is like, I remember my own time during the Anglo-Afghan war. It will change him in more ways that can be believed. For now Sherlock and I will retire to the hotel. I foresee many return visits in our future._

**November 1918**

_The war is over! The Armistice was signed on this day in Compiegne, France. Andrew will be home with his son for good soon. William is a precocious four year old and he questions everything, much like his father at that age. But we have reason even more to celebrate when we returned home to Sussex. It has been twenty years since the night that Sherlock and I became lovers. The last twenty years have been wonderful. From silly arguments because of cold feet to just holding each other close._

_Sherlock tried to cook, a disaster if ever I saw one. He can do some of the most amazing things, but trying to cook a roast dinner, not something he can do. So with him covered in something that was supposed to be a roast I sent him to bathe. I unearthed the kitchen and began from scratch, and it was lovely. The roses he had pruned from the garden were a beautiful touch in the middle of the table. I will press a few and frame them to remember this day by._

_Our day was spent with each other and our night was a wonderful one. Now, I am tired and happy as I see Sherlock asleep beside me. I never thought I would ever lay with a man. But for Sherlock it comes naturally. Tonight I shall lay with my partner in life and love again._

William smiled, he could read the love his grandfather had for Uncle Sherlock in each word. In his mind he could even hear his grandfather as he read the words. He could hear the love in them. He looked to his watch and knew he would have to return home soon. He would have to skip a few more entries, but he didn't mind, he could read them all again in their entirety later.

**March 1928**

_My heart is breaking. Sherlock has not been well these past weeks. Age is upon us and I can tell that we only have a few more years left. I will make the most of the days, there are so many things that I wish to do together with Sherlock. I will not let things pass us by. With some help, I have planned a few holidays for us both around the world. It is something I dreamed of doing for years,a dn to share it with Sherlock would be a dream._

_Sherlock knows that time grows short. He is resting at the moment, one hand is writing this, and the other is holding Sherlock's hand tightly. Scared to let go. I think I shall rest beside him, sleep while I have chance and hold him tight._

William closed his eyes for a moment, he knew what was coming, and while he would love nothing more that to read about their adventures abroad, he would skip to the last few entries and read a couple of them.

**August 1930**

_Paris is a wonderful city and our time going from place to place is at an end. We return to England in two days. Sherlock is sitting on the balcony watching the city below. We can see the Eiffel Tower from our room. Our plan tomorrow is a trip to the top to see the city from there._

_The last two years have been wonderful. Sherlock doesn't have the energy to do a lot of things, but when he does, we don't stop. Time is growing short, but we are enjoying every moment of it. Life, Love and everything in between, we are sharing it all. I think I shall go out and join Sherlock for a while, and soak up the last of the evening sun._

William was sad as he turned to the last entry in the journal. He knew what was coming and he could see from old water marks that his grandfather had been crying as he wrote. He took a breath and began to read.

**October 1931**

_It has been four days and I still can't believe it. I woke those four days ago and found that Sherlock had passed in his sleep. I didn't even know, until I woke. We've had a long and wonderful run. But I wanted more, more time to laugh, to smile, to live and love. I lost him once but he came back to me. This time there will be no return. My family is around me and I have to say goodbye to the one I love._

_I can't help a small smile on my face as something Sherlock said came back to me._

' _I may leave you physically John, but I will always be with you. Never forget the times we have shared, smile and remember them with joy. You have brought joy and love into my life and I hope I have done the same for you.'_

_He had brought so much joy and happiness into my life. The love we shared will forever be a secret from the world. I will smile and remember it everyday. I miss him dearly, and I shall do so until the day we are reunited in Heaven. Now I must say goodbye for the last time. I love you Sherlock. I told you that every day we were together, and I will repeat it the moment we shall meet again._

**1935**

_The time is near for me to join the one I love._

William closed the journal a sad smile on his face. He knew now what he had to do. And while perhaps he wouldn't live to see the fruit of his efforts. He could only hope that the next generations would.t in his generation, but maybe his own children, when he had some, maybe they will be able to. "I'll make sure people know of the love you both shared Grampa." he promised as he looked to the drawer where the journal had been.

He couldn't help but smile to see pictures and a few envelopes tucked at the back. Ones taken of the two men sharing private moments together. Of Sherlock after his disaster in cooking. Or the moments where Sherlock was able to catch his grandfather off guard a happy smile on his face as he gazed to the man behind the camera. They looked thumbed through, but well kept and loved. He opened an slightly battered envelope and read a little of the pristine letter. It was a love letter from Sherlock to John. He tucked it away once more.

William would show his grandmother these. One day he would be able to show the rest of the world about a relationship that was forbidden but was truly about that special connection and love between two men.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I do hope that you have enjoyed this little one shot.


End file.
